


To Kill A Vault Dweller

by ToastedRoach



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Blood and Injury, Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Masochism, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Past Sexual Abuse, Sadism, Self-Harm, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-01-15 07:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12316089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToastedRoach/pseuds/ToastedRoach
Summary: The Lone Wanderer has come a long way. From an innocent Vault kid to a sicko urban invader, like Three Dog would put it. But he won't mind. All that matters is the job and that he gets paid. This particular one has brought him to the Commonwealth. To kill another vault dweller.





	1. Harbinger of War

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is ToastedRoach. I just started writing Fallout fanfic a few months ago. All my works are ongoing and I'm slow. This one is particularly difficult to write. This is my first post here and I don't know how to use tags. ;_; Comments and suggestions (on how to tag better) are welcome. I'll be adding tags while the story progresses/in the other chapters.
> 
> The first chapter of this work is not explicit and doesn't contain other violence than killing a radroach, but there are hints of other, worse actions and the main character's true nature. Shade (my Lone Wanderer) is messed up. More than a slightly cracked egg. Deep inside he's still crazy in love with Jericho and in constant pain because the relationship ended badly. In this story he's been paid to kill Eliza Sokhova (one of my discontinued Sole Survivors) and he comes to Commonwealth to complete that task. Eliza is traveling with MacCready at the time of the encounter and Shade gets a chance to pay back for all the times he was belittled and called a mungo and bossed around by a little kid.
> 
> There might be spoilers. Work title is reference to the book "To Kill A Mockingbird" which I've never read. :/ Both Shade and Eliza have been borrowed from my other works and are original characters created by me and just transferred to the game.

1 - Harbinger of War

 

He has definitely been too long in this world.

29 years doesn't sound much but the Wasteland is harsh to those who grew up underground, protected and imprisoned by an intact vault. His body is marked with scars and burns, broken bones that grew back together a little wrong, giving his posture a certain warped touch. He carries several bullets in his flesh, cuts that open every time it rains, wounds that never show yet never heal. He hurts. Not that he would ever admit that to anyone. It didn't end well last time.

He plops down on the dirty mattress, his legs giving in under him. It was a long walk under the gathering storm and the abandoned shack barely gives any shelter from the radioactive wind. He listens to it's gushes and his imagination makes it sounds like children screaming. His old, dented Pip-Boy clicks faster and he turns the Geiger counter off. Leans his head against the wall, maybe falls asleep for a minute, exhausted by the hardships of the day. The storm has passed. He looks peaceful now, at rest, relaxed. Last rays of the setting sun fall on his face, drawing strong contrasts between his sunken cheeks and eyes and the last of his features untouched by the harsh life in the Wastes: his smooth nose, sharp cheekbones that long time ago would have been considered a sign of noble heritage, the refined jawline. He's no young man but he meticulously shaves his face every morning to maintain a cultivated, youthful look that has not gone unnoticed on his travels. Shade is a man who steals kisses, breaks hearts.

Shade. Yes, that's him. Not the name his parents chose for him. As far as he can recall he was named John after a grandfather he never knew. He doesn't remember why or where he picked up his new name, but he started calling himself Shade shortly before his 10th birthday. There might've been a hero or a villain of that name in one of the comic books he used to love. Grognak was his favorite. Even though there always was something odd about them he couldn't quite wrap his head around. Maybe the fact those comics were from another time. From another world.

He too felt different somehow. In the vault he was always ”the kid from outside”. None of the other kids knew, but the adults did and they passed on their prejudice. It was easier to stay out of their way. Read comics, shoot his bb-gun down at the reactor, watch dad and Jonas work. His only friend Amata was quiet too. Being the Overseer's daughter wasn't easy, not when someone like Butch was around. Only recently, after arriving in the Commonwealth, Shade has started to understand why he always felt the need to push Butch's buttons. Sure Butch was an unbearable little shit, a bully who needed to be taught a lesson, but there was more. There was this cruel joy he felt every time he openly mocked Butch about his mother's drinking habit, or questioned his leading capability around the other Tunnel Snakes. Usually Butch punched him in the face afterwards but it was nothing compared to the rush of power and he kept doing it again and again.

A filthy radroach has smelled the food in his backpack. It stretches it's feelers, receiving pleasant signals. Just like a shadow but much faster the man jumps forward, stabbing the roach with such a force it's carapace shell cracks with a loud snap and the long hunting knife sinks into the shack floor.

”Gotcha!”

With a victorious grin he yanks his knife free and starts chopping the still twitching pest into small pieces. God he loves these little bitches. They are tasty with a nice crunch, the meat is filling but not as heavy as brahmin or mole rat, and they are practically everywhere. He reaches back to his gear and pulls out a cooking pan, a small bottle of cooking oil and a can of purified water. Oil and roach go into the pan. Shade leaves the shack, picking up dry branches and burned grass. He digs a couple of carrots and a tato from his produce sack. He still got some of the herbs he bought at Diamond City market. He paid dearly for them but it has been well worth the money. Soon a roach stew is on the way and Shade takes a moment to clean and polish his knife. _If your weapon is falling apart the only wastelander it's gonna kill is you._

Wise words. He sits at the fire, stirring the pot and his mind wanders. It indulges in the radio man's words. Especially the bad ones. Every one of them true. There's still a hint of peace on his face but his mouth is twisted in a cruel smile, his eyes burn nearly feral. Through the Capital Wasteland he carved a bloody path and now he's here in the Commonwealth. Dishing out a whole new palette of suffering. He has no delusions of how he will be welcomed once word of his true nature spreads. Back home he has earned many names, none of them particularly flattering. He's the 'urban superstition', the Vault Boogeyman parents warn their children about. A reaver, a defiler, scourge of humanity. Some call him evil incarnate. Then there's the title he's most proud of: harbinger of war. Because since he's left Vault 101 there's a new war being fought in the Wasteland. One that can't be escaped from. A fire that can't be extinguished.

Shade doesn't know where or when it began. On the rarest of moments even he wonders where all this hatred is coming from. If the blessing that has kept him alive for the past ten years is actually no blessing but a curse. But those moments are fleeting and soon lost.

The daylight is fading. Shade sits on the ground, cold stone behind his back, enjoying his roach stew. Half of it now, half of it later. His strength is already returning, only discomfort a dull nag of a bullet stuck between his ribs. It's been there two years. Sometimes he can feel it with his fingers. A hard lump of lead. A memory. He doesn't dig deeper and pushes the thought out of his mind. 'Focus on the job', he tells himself.

The job. It's a big one. Not the biggest since he joined the Talon Company, but it's important. It's special. He remembers the man who hired him. A pre-war ghoul with nasty eyes and perfectly preserved black suit, ancient but surprisingly soft voice seeping pure hatred. Backed by two towering bodyguards in equally steril outfits and making Shade feel unfamiliar vulnerability standing in the middle of the huge room, stripped of his armor and weapons.

'My associates told me you are the man who put a bullet into Alistair Tenpenny's head', the ghoul said. The word 'associates' flashed through Shade's mind. His muscles tensed and he bent slightly forward, preparing for combat. The ghoul chuckled, a dusty growl ending in a weak whine, the sound of life leaving a collapsing body. He stood and silently gestured his guards to leave the room. 'There's no need for violence. Alistair let his ego cloud his vision. Old fool. His loyal lapdog shows promise though. I hear he's well taken care of by his new master.' Another dusty, yet amused whine. The ghoul rounded the table and Shade noticed his stiff movements. The man had two prosthetic legs. He could leap forward and break the ghoul's neck with one single twist, would the situation require it. The man's yellow eyes glinted with something like approval.

'I know everything about you. They call you the harbinger of war. What a fitting name... I have summoned you here because I have a proposal for you. It seems that you are just the man I need for a certain task. There is something of extreme importance I need done. Say, would you mind killing a vault dweller?'

\--

End of Chapter 1


	2. Wounds

Sunrise and a silent hill. No living thing approached the shack he slept in. Only wind ghosts around in the dead trees. He lays awake and listens to all the sounds that are not there. The peace is suffocating. He waits until the last of the dream has faded before going back to work. Making traps, cleaning his sniper rifle.

This isn't a job he usually enjoys. Not on a personal level. He likes to get close to his victims, slice them with his knife, shoot them point blank in the face. He likes to see their fear. It's raw and real and his to touch. In his war, taking lives is all that counts. Ever since he fired the first shot with his bb-gun he has enjoyed killing. On his 10th birthday he learned what it feels like to take a life. Only if it was just a stupid roach. When he killed his first human victim – a vault security guard – the intensity of that rush was tenfold, and it has since increased with every new victim and every new method of killing he's taught himself. He knows how to slice them up bit by bit and keep them alive for a very long time. Playing with humans like children's toys. It amuses him. He might even tell them he'll let them go, only to betray his promise, maximizing his own pleasure.

The only lust he feels is bloodlust, the only pleasure he gets is from torturing and killing.

But there was a time when things were different. A year when he had other goals in life. When it wasn't him alone against the world, when he shared his campfire with someone and opened up his cold heart – if even just a little bit.

He doesn't normally dream but when he dreams it's the same all over again. _His_ face, _his_ hands, _his eyes. His naked body pressed against Shade's, pinning him to the floor. Blood from a deep cut on the man's arm drops on him and is smeared on his skin by rough hands that don't care. Fingers curl around his throat and start squeezing and just before Shade faints the man kisses him, light enough to rob him any hope of real love but still passionate enough to let him know he's been a good boy._ And he wakes up bathed in cold sweat, heart racing, his tiny pathetic cock so hard he almost cries.

Almost. He has been pushing the tears back for eight years, erasing every conscious memory of the man. Maybe it's the silence of his campground, but today he finds it hard to forget about the dream. He lays the rifle aside, carefully, giving it a last gentle stroke before standing up. He needs to work. Get his mind off of distractions. _'Are you still ten? No, you can't be a Tunnel Snake. Look at that tiny weenie! No wonder you and Amata are just friends!'_

”Fuck you Butch.” Rage is boiling hot in him. Butch's bones are rotting in the ruins of his old home that was never home. Shade pulls his right hand into a tight fist and punches his own balls. He won't give in to the craving. Three or four hits are usually needed to kill the erection. Today though, it only gets worse. Was it the dream or the memory of being ridiculed, he's not sure, but he's stumbling towards his sleeping place, pulling his pants down, he falls to his knees and grabs the small folding knife he keeps under his pillow. A two-headed radstag grazing next to a rusting harvesting machine looks up and sniffs the air. It's sensitive ears picked up a sound, a low growl of pain and grief.

The sharp blade cuts into his throbbing cock, blood mixing with pre-cum. He rubs it fast and rough with his left hand until the burning is unbearable. He's breathing heavy between sobs, using his right hand to slash long wounds on his thighs and abdomen. All he wants is release and nothing else matters in this moment. He flings the knife from his hand and bangs his head to the nearest wall as hard as he can. So hard it makes his vision go black for half a second and his ears ring, and he cums all over the floor, himself and the dirty mattress.

It's been so long since the last time.

He breaks hearts. He picks the nice looking boys, promises them a good time, walks them far away from home, plays with them. They suck obediently at gun point and he smiles, shoots them in the knee and cuts them up so bad their families never recover from the sight. He can tell a thousand lies and doesn't care if people believe or not. He'll be long gone before the sheriff or local militia arrives.

They mean nothing to him. They can't please him. All he feels is cold. Hate. Shade closes his eyes and tries to regain self-control. Waves of pleasure make him shake, his mutilated dick still hard. Old wounds have opened and darker, slower rivers of blood trickle down his thighs.

Cuts over cuts, scars over scars. This is the only way for him to get off and it's why the man left. No-one wants damaged goods. Tears still flowing he smiles, breathing in heavily through the smile. He hurts but it's a good pain. He only needs to touch the fresh wounds and smear the blood on his face to cum again.

The wind picked up. The hill was silent no more. Another yellow storm rolled in from South. The small herd of radstags laid in the long grass, nervously waiting for it to pass. Glowing gush of rain came down and washed away blood from Shade's naked body. The rest of the day he spent inside, relishing the burn of fresh cuts and mild radiation poisoning. He still had time. His prey would come. The imposter, the enemy of the state. The communist spy who had come to Boston to work as a scientist before the war.

His employer knew everything about her. She had married an American soldier, tricked a patriot and everyone in town. Her only purpose was to gather information for her country and the chinese invaders. And then her family was chosen to enter a vault, she was frozen for 210 years and most likely believed to be safe once back on the surface.

'I waited. I wasn't lucky to be frozen and I changed. She would not recognize me now but I don't forget. I don't forgive. A spy who plotted the assasination of General Green. She could have easily blown up the Mass Fusion. Maybe we all got lucky that the world ended before her plan came to fruition.'

The ghoul limped closer until he stood right in front of Shade. Even in his frail form the ancient army officier was an impressive sight. Such immense amount of age old hate. Bitterness. Also a hint of grief. Once this man was General Green's second in command, his closest friend and advisor. Once they went hunting and fishing together, their wives chatting happily, their healthy children playing in a park that was full of life, full of living plants and laughter. Shade could feel it all just by standing next to the ghoul. He felt kind of pity for a man who had lost more than just a stupid cramped vault-home that wasn't a home. And he did feel something else too. Sadness. Everywhere he saw how the world that once was had changed and become a hostile, dangerous place, but he had never before bothered to imagine how it used to be and how those who had seen it before the war felt to witness all the decay.

'Kill her. I don't care how, just kill her. A spy of her class can't be allowed to roam free with the secrets she knows about.'

 

 


End file.
